


Opinions on the Fish

by soft_but_gremlin



Series: Whumptober 2020 [22]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missions Gone Wrong, drugged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_but_gremlin/pseuds/soft_but_gremlin
Summary: “I think the fish tastes funny,” Qui-Gon muttered to Plo.“I wouldn’t be able to tell,” Plo muttered dryly, making a quick gesture at his mask.Qui-Gon is at a political dinner with his friend Plo and Master Dooku, and what would a political dinner be without someone trying to gain an unfair advantage?(Whumptober day 22: drugged)
Relationships: Dooku & Qui-Gon Jinn, Plo Koon & Tyvokka, Qui-Gon Jinn & Plo Koon, Tyvokka & Qui-Gon Jinn
Series: Whumptober 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946629
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Opinions on the Fish

**Author's Note:**

> Posted early because I'll be without internet for most of next week.

“I think the fish tastes funny,” Qui-Gon muttered to Plo.

“I wouldn’t be able to tell,” Plo muttered dryly, making a quick gesture at his mask. Qui-Gon made a face at him.

“Be. Polite.” Master Dooku said. Qui-Gon wasn’t sure at what point he’d said it, considering that he seemed to have his full attention on the conversation he was having with the people next to him, but he’d said it nonetheless.

“Do you think they’d mind if I didn’t eat it?” Qui-Gon whispered.

“I think that if another Jedi had issues with the food they might actually kill us,” Plo hissed back.

Qui-Gon huffed and turned back to his fish. Fine. He’d take one for the team. If he had food poisoning later, then he’d make Plo stay up all night with him, that’s all.

“This fish is quite good,” Master Dooku said to the hosts. “Would it be impolite to ask what it’s seasoned with?”

“Not at all, Master Jedi,” the senator said. “It is a rare herb found only in the desert oases of our world. Not many Humans  _ appreciate  _ the taste of it. You must truly be a man of culture.”

Qui-Gon gave Plo a  _ look _ at that, but turned back to his food. So he didn’t like the fish. It probably wouldn’t kill him though.

He kept eating it.

The dinner seemed to drag on  _ forever _ . The longer it went, the more tired he felt. It was a horrible, woozy sort of exhausting, which was odd because he usually didn’t get to that level of tired, and he couldn’t remember having done anything to  _ be _ so tired. Was he getting sick? Maybe the atmosphere on this planet was different enough from Coruscant that it was making him sleepy. Or maybe gravity was stronger here.

It was probably gravity.

He tried very hard not to let his exhaustion show, even going so far as to draw on the Force for energy. If he started yawning at a political dinner, he’d be in trouble with Master Dooku for sure.

He was focusing so hard on not appearing sleepy that he almost didn’t notice when the dinner finally ended. Plo had to tap him on the shoulder.

“Sorry,” Qui-Gon mumbled. He stood up, and the world tilted viciously. Worry flooded the Force, and he slurred, “Don’t worry, I’m just a bit tired, is all.”

It was really hard to focus, and Plo’s face was swimming in and out of view. Qui-Gon tried to reassure Plo that he was fine, really, but the words were heavy in his mouth, and the world was spinning so much that he was worried that what would come out wouldn’t be words at all. He felt like someone was dragging him down into unconsciousness, like there were chains of sleep pulling him deep into an ocean of darkness.

And finally, he couldn’t resist anymore.

When Qui-Gon woke up, it was the most difficult thing he’d ever done. The chains of sleep were still firmly wrapped around him, and he existed in a strange half-dream state for who knows how long.

He was moving, that much he could tell. Or, well, he was being moved. It was a very bumpy sort of movement, too. Someone was mumbling nearby, but Qui-Gon couldn’t keep ahold of any of the words long enough to decipher them. His name was said a few times, at least he thought so, but he couldn’t grasp the thread of the conversation.

Something was poking at him in the Force, too. It was annoying. He tried to push it away. It returned, more insistent. The words picked up the pace, too. He wasn’t quite able to wake up yet, but the stimulus was too obnoxious to drift off back to blissful unconsciousness.

Soon, he realized there was a beeping noise somewhere nearby. He recognized the beeping, but it took some time for his sleepy brain to place it. The beeping was Plo’s mask. It only did that when Plo was breathing too quickly for it to filter properly.

“Slow down,” he mumbled, or tried to. His mouth was so dry, and his tongue felt so heavy in his mouth, he could barely form the sounds.

“Shut up, Qui-Gon,” Plo snapped breathlessly.

Normally, Qui-Gon would have argued with him, but words were difficult to summon. So he shut up, and slipped a little further into unconsciousness. He felt dizzy; the bumpiness of the journey kept slamming something into his stomach, while his head seemed to flail wildly, without him able to do a thing about either. He also felt like he was falling, which was an unfortunate side effect of many dreams, so why not this one? 

Hopefully, he woke up before he hit the ground.

Suddenly, there was a  _ clang clang clang clang clang _ , and his stomach lurched as he was dropped. He hit solid ground, but he wasn’t dead, so maybe he was more awake than asleep. Or maybe you didn’t actually die if you hit the ground when you fell in your sleep.

“Sorry,” Plo said, and then the  _ clang clang clang _ moved away.

Qui-Gon finally managed to pry his eyes open. The world was silver and hard to focus on. There was cold metal at his back, and after a moment, he could hear the noises of a ship starting up.

Weird.

He stayed there forever and no time at all, waiting for his brain to wake up enough to fully engage.

When Master Dooku and Master Tyvokka finally joined them, he was mostly coherent. Coherent enough to know that if things were going well, they wouldn’t have had Plo open the gangplank and jumped aboard while the ship was still in the air. The gangplank door hadn’t even closed as the ship started elevating.

“Hi,” Qui-Gon said.

Master Dooku almost responded, but the ship lurched sideways, and the Masters moved to brace themselves while Qui-Gon tumbled across the floor. Artificial gravity was engaged, but they clearly weren’t yet high enough for natural gravity to have a nonconsequential effect.

Master Dooku raced up the ladder to the pilot’s cabin. Master Tyvokka huffed and sat next to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon curled up next to him.

“ _ I have heard that you’ve been having a rough night _ ,” Master Tyvokka grumbled in Shyriiwook.

“Not really, I’ve just been sleeping,” Qui-Gon said, tugging Master Tyvokka’s arm around him.

Master Tyvokka gave an amused huff at him as the ship lurched again. They barely went sliding this time; they must be almost to space at this point.

“Sorry for falling asleep at the dinner,” Qui-Gon mumbled.

“ _ From what I heard, you can hardly be blamed _ ,” Tyvokka said.

“Well, it  _ was  _ pretty boring,” Qui-Gon admitted. 

Tyvokka chuckled at that, and shook Qui-Gon’s shoulder affectionately. Qui-Gon snuggled closer to him, still not entirely awake, but knowing that Master Tyvokka would keep him safe until he managed to throw the chains of sleep off completely.


End file.
